Category Archives: Follettry

Eggs Won’t Spoil and Sperm Won’t Rot Abridged

creepy baby

your food doesn’t rot
your sperm doesn’t die
your eggs don’t spoil
your breasts won’t sag
your 85 year old medicated penis acts 21
and your smile never turns to sad
everything is not alright

always new beginnings
Everything always ending
this is the way
life’s supposed to

Brandon Follett performs at the Poetry Church in San Luis Obispo

Thank You Dennis!!!!!!poetry church san luis obispo

featuring the music of:C.j. Boyd(road, USA)!Mindparade(Bloomington, IN), IN) Ghostal service(San Luis Obispo, CA)

featuring the spoken word/poetry of:

Leslie St. John(San Luis Obispo, CA)

Linda Camplese(Nipomo, CA)

Brandon FollettCambria, CA)

John Reid(Atascadero, CA)

please do bring a few bucks to support and honor the traveling musicians/poets.

once upon a time, C.j. Boyd passed through San Luis Obispo. C.j. was a magical road-warrior wizard of sound. Poetry Church Ministries heard about this and along with Anahata LovelyDay KiaWind brainstormed and realized that they should have a Poetry Church at Smiling Dog Yoga. It was then realized that the good friend and co-founder of U.S. Ghostal Service (also performing), Prince Thomas(performing as !Mindparade) was passing through California at the very same time as all of this so everything began to fall into a lovely place. Prince Thomas(aka Alex Arnold) was traveling with his partner and fellow performer Jennifer Samaniego Burch who also was quickly slated to perform at the church. Poetry Church then realized that the musical ingredients for the Poetry Church were in abundance and yet the POETRY itself(in its natural, silence-surfing form) was lacking so a fervent petition was made to the preternaturally silver-tongued Leslie St.John to share her poetry with the fellowship. Then the poetic services of one John Reid, a mad max of duneite poetry, were requested, as well as the disheveled hilarity of the poetry of Brandon Follett. Following a breakthrough poetry performance at the Wise Owl in Cambria, CA, the final ingredient of one Monalisa Maione(aka the one and only dynamo Linda Camplese) was added to the poetry church brew and then the potion cooked and cooked. C.J. Boyd was somewhere out there, rambling the coast hither and thither, bass lines in his eyes. Poetry Church quivered in anticipation and a hundred thousand kundalini snakes set their modes to rattle.

p.s. please come in a yummy kind of mood and attire for there will be much opportunity to dance, stretch and play in a ceremony such as this. bring a donation to support the traveling performers if you can. all are welcome, regardless. : )

Eggs Won’t Spoil and Sperm Won’t Rot

turkey baster

Not so long ago
before prenatal vitamins,
turkey basters,
and petri dishes
the birds and the bees
the mommies and the daddies
needed clean air
healthy trees
clear water
vibrant soil
to make babies
along with a pinch
of horniness

When the ingredients
didn’t work
no worries
their bodies rotted
back into the ground
and the baby making
starts over again

salmon baked with garlic,
olive oil,
basil, and lemon juice
an herb arugula salad
glass of red wine
next to the wood stove
in a log cabin
overlooking a mountain lake
oh yes
and a pinch of horniness.

Baby making moments
created by
goat poop,
and dandelions
now harvested from mother earth
by the diseased, aged, cancered and impotent
to keep sperm from rotting
to keep eggs from spoiling
to create a stylish Martha Stewartish
air conditioned reception area
for cozy People magazine reading
while the fertility specialist
keeps the baby making

After the credit card transaction has cleared
little test tube baby
comes home
feels loved
falls asleep
in a plastic cage
holds baby up
to her fatty breast.
the baby latches on
slurps in the paint thinner
toilet deodorizer
cosmetic additives.
When baby is full
Dad draws a bath
and lays it in
warm gassy fracked water.
When baby is clean
Momma will lean down
with fast food breath
leaving red animal tested

The Bench

Yesterday in his pocket
he had
friends, Neil Diamond concert footage, the constitution, nude women, pac man, conspiracy theories, the stock market,
and streaming Rush Limbaugh.
His pocket was never boring.

Today in his pocket he has a tube of chap stick, a set of keys, and a wallet.
Next to him
my dog sniffs and squats.
By the time the dog finishes its crap
the man’s lips are moist,
and he has Iooked at the one photo of his family
and one photo of his cat.

He tries to engage me in conversation
about the shapes in the clouds
and the weather.
I motion to the Angry Bird game on the iPhone in my hand.
He starts petting and mumbling to my dog.

I wonder if he’s insane, stoned or retarded.
All this makes me nervous.
Then I remember
this is what people with boring pockets

Jean’s Plan to NOT become an Unplanned Grandmother

South Street Cafe Bennington Vermont

Jean walks into the South Street Cafe. Her best friend, Shirley, sits on the couch with a look of frustration. Her calming tea can not calm this situation. Shirley recognizes the look she saw 20 years ago. She sits down and hugs her friend.

Jean: “How far along are you?”

Shirley: “It’s not me. Billy got his college girlfriend pregnant. I’m not going to raise the child. I don’t get it. I made sure condoms were available. On our walks, I point out the young unhappy 20 year old boys pushing baby strollers. I repeatedly told him how many Grateful Dead shows I gave up to raise him and how many Built to Spill shows he will miss if there’s an accident. What could I have done differently?”

Shirley might not be an unplanned grandma if she had bought Built to Spill condoms instead of U2 condoms.  Billy hates U2!!!

Shirley might not be an unplanned grandma if she had bought Built to Spill condoms instead of U2 condoms. Billy hates U2!!!

Jean: “You can put out as many condoms as you want but if you don’t know what type of flavor she likes or the right type of color he likes, the condoms will only collect dust. As far as pointing out pregnant 20 year olds, children can’t grasp the cause and effect. Walk onto a college campus and check out the freshmen in line for a credit card. Unless you are in the room when the kids are getting it on, you can’t guarantee they’ll practice safe sex. To ensure that I don’t become an unplanned grandma, I regulate my son’s testosterone levels. For instance, do you stock your refrigerator with lots of cabbage and broccoli?

Billy and his girlfriend eat a black bean burger, with sauerkraut, avocado, and tomato.  A disaster waiting to happen!

Billy and his girlfriend eat a black bean burger, with sauerkraut, avocado, and tomato. A disaster waiting to happen!

Shirley: “Yes, in fact Billy and his girl friend love black bean burgers with lots of sauerkraut and avocado with a side dish of goat yogurt, raisins and figs for dessert.”

Jean: “Oh my!!!” Don’t tell me he also likes free range eggs and mushrooms?”

Shirley: “He loves mushrooms!!!! Yesterday he begged me to make him an omelet with my neighbor’s chicken eggs and insisted that the mushrooms and spinach be sautéed in garlic and olive oil.”

Jean: “Jesus Christ, Shirley what are you thinking? I’m surprised half the women in Bennington, VT aren’t knocked up because of your careless cooking! Here are some basic guidelines to help keep this situation to only one unplanned baby. Foods with B-vitamins, vitamin-D, vitamin-E, zinc, monounsaturated fats increase testosterone. Cruciferous vegetables help decrease estrogen levels. Next time Billy says, “Hey mom can I make us a broccoli couscous casserole,” I would respond why don’t you microwave some tater tots and smother them in high fructose corn syrup ketchup. You see, processed food with lots of sugar is the best way to keep your son’s testosterone levels low. Also keep in mind exercise increases testosterone. Every time my son suggests going on a bicycle ride or walk to the grocery store I insist that he takes the car.”

Shirley: “Are you serious? You govern Jack’s sex drive by regulating his testosterone levels through food and exercise? Does this really work?”

Jean: “Yes, I’ll prove it. Remember how horny Jack was when I fed him healthy food and didn’t let him use my car?”

Shirley: “I do. You were on a first name basis with the folks at Planned Parenthood.”

Jean gets out her iPhone. She dials Jack’s number.

Jean: “Jack, did you see the McDonalds breakfast money I put out by the TV remote control. Oh good. You drove, right? Cool. Well, I’m here with Shirley. We’re sitting at the South Street Cafe.  The cafe is playing 80’s Madonna right now over the speakers. The song Erotic just ended. Oh you wouldn’t believe who sat down beside us. That cute barista with the long brown hair and the long long legs. She asked how you are doing. You should come down. The smiley barista doesn’t start her shift for another hour. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. Really you would rather sit on the couch, finish your fries, and surf Facebook. Good boy!”

The End

Don’t become an unplanned grandmother.  Educate yourself on what foods not to feed your son:

David Bowie, Funny Mirrors, and a Veggie Burrito at the Old Stone Station

old stone station Cambria California

The Old Stone Station became a place of refuge for John

At John’s funeral, friends and family dropped fresh cut flowers into the grave. Willy walked to the edge where the casket lay.  He tightly squeezed a David Bowie t-shirt before relaxing his hands.  Willy let the Ziggy Startdust t-shirt fall into the grave.

Clyde asked perplexed, “What are you doing?”

Old Stone Station David Bowie

Willie replied, “John loved David Bowie.  Remember how many times he went to the men’s restroom at the Old Stone Station Restaurant?”

A year ago, Willie, Clyde, and John met on a sunny day on the deck of the Old Stone Station. They each planned on enjoying the best Mexican food served on Friday. Ironically, they all ordered veggie burritos. The three of them quickly realized this serendipitous moment. Conversations began and three tables became one. A Friday veggie burrito tradition began.

Like a digital clock with a strong battery, Willie, Clyde, and John showed up at the same time every Friday and ordered the same veggie burrito.  The tradition changed when John’s wife left him for a young stud and the L.A. city life.  Depressed, John began to eat 1.5 burritos, than 2 burritos in one sitting.  Willie and Clyde were amazed by John’s overwhelming burrito consumption.

Old stone Station veggie burrito Cambria California

John developed deadly feelings for black beans

John replied in a condescending snarky voice, “How can a person not eat two of a these remarkable creations!  The flavors of the beans, sauces, fresh ingredients, veggie burger and cheese make me forget myself.  I am no longer John who gave 20 years of my life to a woman who didn’t appreciate it.  At the Old Stone Station I am simply a tongue who doesn’t need love – only a burrito.”

The guys noticed John use the bathroom more frequently and lose weight.

One day when John left to the restroom, Clyde asked Willie, “Do you think it’s weird John’s bladder has gotten smaller since his divorce?”

The last known photo of John

The last known photo of John

Willie, “I don’t think his bladder has gotten smaller.   He frequently uses the restroom because the carnival fees to enjoy a circus mirror in private is ridiculous.  At the Old Stone Station the price of the mirror is included in the price of the meal.  He can laugh and laugh as long as he purchases something.  John’s a huge David Bowie fan. He told the restaurant owner he wants first dibs on the David Bowie shirt in the bathroom.  Notice how he looks at the burritos and mutters the lyric, “Oh you pretty thing your driving your mamas and papas insane.”  I’m a huge Paul McCartney fan.  I would pretend to pee a lot more if a Paul McCartney t-shirt hung in the bathroom.”

John heard most of their conversation and paused before returning. He could not let his friends know of his burrito addiction. He decided to mask his bulimia by becoming a David Bowie fan.

The madness turned John into a David Bowie burrito eater.

The madness turned John into a David Bowie burrito eater.

A month of Fridays passed.  John looked more skinny and unhealthy.

Clyde finely addressed the elephant in the room, “John, what’s wrong with you.  You have grown into the body of 17 year old girl who wants to be a model.”

John snapped, “I look like David Bowie on heroine.”

John went to the bathroom muttering a David Bowie song.

Clyde said, “Willie I have a crazy thought.  Did you see how fast John ferociously devoured his burrito?  He reminds me of my cat, Henrietta. She can eat a can of canned cat food like John can scarf down a burrito. When she can’t eat anymore she sneaks off and pukes up her food.  Do you notice how John eats and eats then leaves to go to the bathroom?  Does John remind you of my cat?”

Willie, “I’ve never met Henrietta but I do know John reminds me of David Bowie on heroine.”

The End.

John's now in Happy Burrito heaven.

John’s now in Happy Burrito heaven.

Old Stone Station
713 Main St.
Cambria, CA 93428

Special thanks to Gillian Rowley’s edits.  Check out her blog Allergy Bites

Welfare Walking

The beach in this area cannot be accessed by private land. It’s not fair that only the welfare walkers can enjoy the beach.

“Oh, no,” I think as I walk past the public bathroom. “I didn’t take my morning shit.  I hate it when I get distracted. Now there’s an uncomfortable pressure in my bowels and something brown pushing for freedom.”

Earlier this morning Buddy wrote on Facebook, “I’m fatigued from working lots of hours with only a little rest to watch a sports game. I feel like a limp hot dog after working ten hours to support the Democratic lazy welfare folks.”

Buddy got me thinking about my own lifestyle.  Maybe I need to be more accountable for my actions.  I don’t want to add to my overweight, over stressed friend’s poor health.  I have a job, pay taxes, and do not live off the government in the hand to mouth sense, but I’m a big fan of former Idaho Democratic Senator Frank Church and former Idaho House of Representative Nicole LeFavor.  Right there that’s a big red flag.  Somehow I must be mooching off the system, making my friend work extra hours.  There’s got to be something I can improve on.  Then it dawned on me.  Maybe Buddy is overweight because he won’t compromise his Republican small government principles for his health.  A simple example would be state owned land or state funded projects that people walk on.    Buddy always reminds me that the benefits of small government are greater than the practices of Democratic big government.  I’m sure this applies to over-bloated big government expensive walking budgets.  Just as I decided to revise my walking habits, the Colvils drove by.

The Colvils live up the road from me.  I am one of three or four of their closest neighbors.  They own a large swath of land between the East Village and West Village.  The property has a conservation easement and there are miles of established trails surrounded by a barbed wire fence.

I frantically waved at the Colvils. They stopped.

“Hey Mr. Colvils, this is Mark, your neighbor down the street.  I’m going to go on a  Republican walk.    I need to find some private property big enough to get the heart rate going.  My home is right across the street from your forest.    Now I know a lot of Republicans who can’t afford miles of private land for walking rent a small piece of property at the gym called a treadmill.  I find that TV’s and walls cannot soothe my soul like the sight of a deer or a living forest.   I promise to keep on the established trails.  I’ll even pay you a couple of bucks for wear and tear on the forest.”

Mr. Colvils looks irritated.  “Leave my miles of forest alone.  If I catch you on my forest I’ll have you arrested.” He drives away.

Disappointed after the Colvils conversation I decided to head out on my walk.  I got to the edge of my white picket fence gate.  I reached out with my big toe.  I hesitated.  I figured as soon as it touched the public sidewalk, I would crumple over in guilt and be ravaged by unpatriotic emotions like a baptist with a broken down car who walks into a bowling alley to use the pay phone.  The baptist knows his guardian angel will leave him at the door but he wants to get home to see his family.  I stepped onto the sidewalk.  Surprisingly my big toe didn’t burst into flames and I didn’t start sobbing about being a bad bad Republican sinner.

This brings us back to that uncomfortable feeling in my bowels which now takes on the animal spirit of a turtle.   I walk into the nearest shop.  The bathroom sign reads: “for paying customers only.” I pull out my wallet.  I have $30 cash plus my debit card.   I buy an Americano handed to me in a to go cup.  The destruction of a tree and $2.50 is well spent for a privatized shit even though the public bathrooms are free and a disposable cup would not have been wasted.

Continuing the walk I notice some garbage.  I am not going to throw it away in the public trash can but choose to carry it home to dispose of in a patriotic American fashion.  The three beer bottles and one used condom become cumbersome.  I see a Romney Ryan sign in a yard.  My initial reaction is, “Thank God for a Republican walker.”  I knock on the door.  I  hear several locks unlock.

“Hello, I noticed your sign.  I too am a Republican walker.  I don’t want to burden the taxpayer with three empty beer bottles and one used condom.  Can I give you this trash to be disposed of in a privatized manner?”

The woman glances at me, then at the condom and back at her five blonde blue-eyed children.  In a nervous tone she says, “If you don’t get off my property I’m going to call the cops.”

I drop the the trash and run.

At the beach big waves are breaking and the harbor seals are barking.  I’m tired.  I want to sit down on the public bench or stretch out on the public sand.  The only private space I can find is a restaurant that luckily has a deck with an ocean view.  I look over the menu and see that there is nothing organic or local.  I decide to get a baked potato because Idaho is a Republican state.  I don’t understand why big farms tend to vote Republican.  Big farms are synonymous with big government support.   Shouldn’t agribusiness farms support the Democratic Party?  Small local farms are synonymous with no government or small government.  Republican walking is one thing but I don’t know if I’m ready to eat a big agribusiness Republican diet.    I’m just going to enjoy my potato and hope that the cheese and sour cream covers up the taste of fertilizer, pesticides, GMOs, hormones, antibiotics, and illegal migrant workers.

I leave the beach disappointed.  The beach in this area cannot be accessed by private land.  My feet miss the feel of the sand and the splash of the water.  There’s got to be some way for a one-percenter to buy up some oceanfront property, then charge us ninety-nine percenters a small fee to walk on their beach.  It’s not fair that only the welfare walkers can enjoy the beaches in this area.

I start my trek home midday underneath the blazing sun.  I become insanely thirsty for some water.  I stop at the gas station convenience store.  A bottle of flavored water costs three dollars.  Refreshed, I round the corner to see a family in nice Gap clothes, obviously lower-middle class.  They are lined up in front of the public drinking fountain.  I mutter, “Fucking free loaders.  They can afford Gap clothes and probably have cable TV but can’t buy water.  That woman, who calls herself a mother, needs to get her tubes tied if she can’t provide water for her kids without government assistance.  It’s that family’s welfare walking antics and a socialist-leaning walking government that is destroying this country.”

I yell,  “Victory to the Republican walker!” as I march down the street.

Singer Song Writers at Play at the KREUZBERG

For those of you who couldn’t make last nights Songwriters at Play here’s a taste of what you missed.

Thank you Steve for the invite to play!

Songwriters At Play are fun shows, held every week. Pro songwriter Steve J Key hosts top local talent from California’s Central Coast region, and touring professional artists.

Here’s the press release about the July 17 show:

Tuesday, July 17th, 2012

Kreuzberg CA

Seattle Soulful Country Singer Joy Mills in SLO – 6:30-9:30pm

685 Higuera St.
San Luis Obispo California 93401
Price: Free!

Seattle’s Joy Mills and her band The Starlings wowed us a couple of years ago, and now Joy returns with a new solo CD, Trick of the Eye. She calls it “balladeering and soulful country songs about the ethos and modern myth.” Or perhaps you can judge her by the company she keeps — Joy has shared stages with Todd Snider, The Avett Brothers, Fred Eaglesmith, The Wood Brothers, and Eilen Jewell. Preview her new tunes at

 An all-star lineup of performers is set for July 17: Holly Ann Phillips, New York’s Julia Poorman, Chicago’s Captain Ambivalent, Atascadero duo Young Ireland, and Cambria’s Brandon Follett. Songwriters At Play showcases are held every Tuesday, 6:30-9:30pm at Kreuzberg, 685 Higuera St., San Luis Obispo. 805.439.2060. The showcase includes one featured act and 5-6 others playing 4-song sets. There is no cover charge. All ages are welcome.

“Cambria Doesn’t Stink” says my Nose

unhappy stressed out nose

Dear Brandon,

I have an unhappy nose. It has become resentful of the rest of my body. My nose recently pointed out over the last several years:

-my legs hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.
-my eyes got to see works of art at the Louvre Museum in Paris.
-my brain went to the Smithsonian in Washington DC.
-my belly and tongue tasted the Portland, OR food truck scene.
-my arms and chest went on a sea kayaking trip in the San Juan Islands.
-my heart went on a weekend date to Atlanta, ID.
-my toes regularly go to the beach.
-several times a month my fingers go to the petting zoo and recieve a manicure.

Physically the jealousy has manifested itself into stress. Besides my nose being unhappy it’s now ugly. Covered in blackheads. I have promised my nose a vacation. Please help me by answering a few questions.
-Does the BSI use cleaning products with misleading smells that might confuse my nose by making it think it’s in a rainforest?
-Does Cambria have oil refineries, pulp mills, 8 lane freeways, and feedlots?
-Do the ally’s in Cambria smell like piss similar to SF’s ally’s?

Thanks in Advance,

Francisco De Lovely

Hello Francisco,

No, to all the above.  I too forgot I had a nose. One day I had no inspiration. I went to Moonstone Beach to sit in solitude and listen to the small voice found in my heart. That afternoon on the beach my heart whispered nothing profound. However my nose breathed in the smells of Cambria and sniffled out this song. Below are the lyrics and a recording of the song. I now follow my nose instead of my heart.

See you soon,


What’s that You Say Nose?

What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.

Little baby isn’t cute who wears a smelly diaper.
Hot woman with inflamed tonsils has a smelly kiss.
The man with gangrene has a stinky leg.
Spoiled milk has a pungent smell.
The smell of moldy lentils makes me want to hurl.
My nose has taught me
to stay away from these bad smells.

What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.

Cigarettes are smelly.
Agro business is smelly.
Polluted rivers are smelly.
Cheap perfume tested on animals is smelly.
Bombs and blood are smelly.
Growing up I was told my nose has smelled wrong.
They say breathe in the smell of progress.

What’s that you say nose?
It might not be good
to live, eat, drink and fuck
by that fuckin smell.

A performance of What’s that You Say Nose?

I Need a Virus to Slow Down

The Pacific Coast Highway and Main Street in Cambria are a never ending source of creative inspiration.

I Need A Virus To Slow Down
 -Inspired by the flowers smack-dab in the middle of Main Street-

To make a road safer
You don’t –

You fuck up the road!

With –
Planter boxes
Grazing deer.

These obstacles
slow a vehicle
down to a safe crawl.

When a relationship
moves too fast,

Sometimes I need
a snotty nose
to slow down
the Lovin’.

A good virus
to produce
Some chunky phlegm
To dribble down the lip.

Something a
condom can’t protect against.

Something to press down upon
the horny brakes.

A pause to make me ask,
“Am I really in love?”

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